Chapter 15 #2
The week after I turn down Gary Allen’s offer passes in a blur of routine.
The bar opens. The bar closes. I learn to work the register without Presley hovering over my shoulder.
I start recognizing regulars by name. Betty from line dancing teaches me the two-step, and I only mess it up about half the time.
It’s starting to feel like normal. Like a life.
Wednesday afternoon, I’m in the office trying to make sense of quarterly tax forms when Wyatt appears in the doorway.
“Hey, you busy Saturday?” he asks.
I look up from the spreadsheet that’s been giving me a headache for the past hour. “It depends. What do you have in mind?”
“Well, there’s a place I want to show you, up in the mountains. It’s a little bit of a hike, but not too bad. Maybe an hour up.”
“A hike?”
“Yeah. Wear good shoes. Bring water. I’ll pack a lunch.”
“Ooh, that’s very mysterious.”
“It’s a surprise,” he grins. “A good one, I promise. I’ll pick you up at nine?”
“Okay.”
He starts to leave, then turns back. “Eleanor?”
“Yeah?”
“Wear layers. It gets a little cooler up there.”
Saturday morning dawns clear and perfect, the kind of spring day that makes you understand why people write poems about May in the mountains. The sky is an impossible blue that only happens at this elevation, and the air smells of pine, wildflowers, and hope.
Wyatt pulls up at exactly nine in his truck, and I climb in wearing jeans, hiking boots I bought at a local shop, and a light jacket tied around my waist.
“Morning,” he says, handing me a travel mug of coffee.
“You made coffee?”
“I know how you like it. Cream, two sugars.”
It’s such a small thing, such a simple thing, but it means more than anything.
We drive for about twenty minutes, winding up narrow roads that get progressively more remote.
The houses thin out until it’s just forest on both sides, thick and green and alive with birdsong.
Wyatt turns onto what is generously called a road, which is really more like two tire tracks through the trees, and we bounce along for another five minutes before he parks in a small clearing.
“This is it,” he says, turning off the truck.
“This is what?”
“The trailhead.” He hops out and grabs a backpack from the truck bed. “Come on. It’s worth it, I promise,” he says as he opens my door.
The trail starts out easy enough, with a gradual incline, towering pines and oaks, and dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead. Birds call to each other in the branches, and somewhere in the distance, I hear running water. I’m just hoping I don’t see a bear.
Wyatt sets an easy pace, checking every few minutes to make sure I’m okay, which I am. Barely. I know he could be going a lot faster. He’s more experienced at this. I’m not exactly out of shape, but I’m not used to hiking uphill for an extended period either.
“You doing okay?” he asks after about ten minutes.
“Fine,” I say, only slightly out of breath. “How much farther?”
“We’re about halfway.”
“Oh. Halfway. Great.”
He grins. “Do you want to take a break?”
“No, I’m good. Let’s keep going.”
We climb higher. The trees change as we ascend, more evergreen. The air gets cooler and thinner, and my legs are burning, but in a good way.
“So what’s at the top?” I ask during a relatively flat stretch.
“You’ll see.”
“Why are you still being mysterious?”
“Well, do you want me to ruin the surprise?”
“Yes, actually. I’d like to be prepared.”
“Life doesn’t work that way, Eleanor. Sometimes you have to trust the process.”
I think about that as we climb. About trust. About letting go of the need to control everything, the need to know everything, and plan everything. About how terrifying and freeing that is all at once.
* * *
We reach the top, or what I assume to be the top, and the trail opens up into a clearing. But Wyatt doesn’t stop. He just keeps going, following an even narrower path that cuts through the trees. Then I hear it. Water. Not the gentle murmur of a creek, but something louder.
The trees thin out, and suddenly we’re standing on a flat expanse of rock at the edge of a waterfall.
I stop walking and just stare.
The waterfall isn’t huge, maybe thirty feet high, but it’s absolutely perfect.
Water cascades over dark rocks into a clear pool below, surrounded by moss-covered boulders and ferns.
It looks like something out of a children’s storybook or a painting.
The mist from the falls catches the sunlight, creating tiny rainbows hanging in midair.
The sound is incredible, constant, and soothing.
“Oh,” I manage to breathe out.
“Yeah.” Wyatt comes to stand beside me. “I thought you might like this.”
“Like it? Wyatt, this is…” I trail off, searching for the right word. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. It’s also a secret. Well, I mean, not a secret exactly, but not many people know about it. It’s not on any of the tourist maps.”
“How did you find it?”
“My grandfather brought me here when I was a little kid. It’s something only the locals really know about.
He said it was a special place, somewhere to come when you needed to think, be quiet, or just remember what matters in life.
” He sets down the backpack. “I come up here sometimes,” he continues, “when things get too loud in my head.”
I look at him and understand what he’s telling me. This is his place. His sanctuary. And he’s sharing it with me.
“Thank you,” I say. “For bringing me here.”
“Come on. There’s a spot over here where we can eat.”
He leads me to a flat rock beside the pool, far enough from the falls that we can hear each other talk, but close enough to feel the cool mist on our faces. He unpacks the backpack. Sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, apples, a thermos of sweet tea, and cookies that look homemade.
“Did your grandmother make these?” I ask, holding up the chocolate chip cookie.
“She did. She insisted. Said I couldn’t bring a lady on a hike without proper provisions.”
“Your grandmother is wonderful.”
“She is. She’s also been asking when you’re coming for dinner again.”
“Tell her anytime. I loved being there. It was nice to be a part of a normal family.”
We eat in comfortable silence, with the sound of the waterfall filling the space where words might otherwise go. The sandwiches are simple—turkey and cheese, lettuce, and good bread—but they taste incredible up here with the mountain air and the view, and of course, the company.
After we finish eating, Wyatt packs the trash away and leans back on his hands, looking out at the waterfall.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Why did you really turn down Gary Allen’s offer?”
“Because I realized something,” I say. “My whole life, I’ve made decisions based on what I was supposed to want.
What my mother wanted, what society expected, what looked good on paper.
Every single one of those decisions led me to a place where I was successful and accomplished for a while, and absolutely miserable.
And, well, turning down three point five million dollars made no sense on paper.
It was the opposite of what I was supposed to do.
But it just felt right in a way nothing else has felt right in years. ”
He nods slowly. “I get that.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. When I came back from Afghanistan, everybody told me what I was supposed to do. Go get a good job. Use my military experience. Make something of myself. Try to get over what I’d been through.
And I did try. I really did. I got a construction job in Asheville.
Good pay, good benefits, room for advancement.
“What happened?”
“I lasted three months. I couldn’t sleep.
I couldn’t focus. I had panic attacks in the middle of meetings.
Really embarrassing.” He picks up a small stone and turns it over in his fingers.
“Everyone said I was wasting my potential by coming back here to Copper Creek, working at a bar of all things. But it saved my life. Mavis saved my life.”
“How?”
He’s quiet for a moment. I can see him deciding what to tell me, whether to trust me with whatever comes next.
“You know I have PTSD,” he says. “I was in a convoy that hit an IED. I survived, and my best friend didn’t.”
My heart clenches.
“Oh, Wyatt, I’m so sorry.”
“I had really bad survivor’s guilt, and there was a time I wasn’t sure I wanted to be here anymore.
It’s been a few years. I’ve learned to manage it.
Therapy, medication, just trying to take care of myself.
But for a long time, I couldn’t. I was drowning.
And Mavis, well, she didn’t try to fix me.
She just gave me a place to be, a reason to get up in the morning, people who needed me to show up. ”
He throws the stone into the pool, and we watch the ripples spread across the surface.
“This bar was never just a job for me. It was my lifeline.”
I reach over and take his hand. He looks surprised for a moment, then laces his fingers through mine.
“Thank you for telling me that.”
“Thank you for listening and for not…” He pauses. “Well, most people, when they find out, either treat me like I’m broken or like I’m dangerous. But you’re just here.”
“I’m here.”
We sit like that for a while, holding hands beside the waterfall. I feel something between us deepen.
“Can I ask you something now?” I say.
“Fair is fair.”
“What really happened with Laney? You said she left, but…” I trail off.
“But you wanted to know why.”
I nod.